The Woman Returns
by Brandolyn
Summary: Sherlock, Brianna, John and Mary have settled into life in London. Sherlock is still the world's only Consulting Detective, John helps when he's not at St. Bart's, Mary is a Vet Tech and Brianna works at the National Gallery. But when Irene Adler comes back into town to surprise Sherlock, she's surprised to find out how much Baker Street has changed.
1. Chapter 1: MIssing

Trudging across the sopping wet sidewalk from his cab to the steps of 221 Baker street, John ignored formalities opening the front door and marching up the stairs to the flat he used to share with his best friend Sherlock Holmes. John had moved out of 221B after Sherlock's fall from atop St. Bartholomew's Hospital. Mrs. Hudson had been forced to get new tenants, but evicted them the moment Sherlock returned and for the past year and a half, it's been home to both Sherlock Holmes, and his wife; Brianna Turner.

The door to the flat at the top of the landing stood ajar. John stopped and forced himself to take a deep, calming breath before knocking firmly on the frame of the door.

"Sherlock, you let your charge run out again. I've been ringing." He said as calmly as he could manage, pushing open the door and letting himself in. "I've been worried…" The Doctor's thought trailed off as he starred at Sherlock's empty chair before the fireplace. He spun to face the kitchen and found the seat in front of the microscope vacant as well.

"Sherlock?" John wandered deeper into the flat toward his old room. "Brianna, what's he got himself into?" He asked pushing open the door. The room was no longer John's room. Now it was Brianna's study; her workroom. The walls and desk were covered in sketches and drawings; portraits, landscapes and bits of architecture and anatomy. Her sketch book lay open in the centre of the desk, surrounded by her favourite mediums; pencils, chalk and charcoal. Her chair, like Sherlock's, was empty. He turned from the empty room and called for Mrs. Hudson as a set of footsteps ascended the stairs.

The Doctor took a few steps into the hall as his tall, dark haired friend stepped into view dressed in his usual long coat and blue scarf. He stood in the front hall and looked around barely moving; figuring out some mystery only he could see. He looked through John as if he wasn't standing in front of him.

"Oy! I said you missed lunch. Isn't your phone working?" John barked. Sherlock didn't react to his outburst other than to move from the entrance into the living room. John sighed and followed him. He took a seat in his chair, across from Sherlock's; like old times and watched Sherlock as he stood thinking. Sherlock and Brianna still referred to this chair as John's seat. It was always reserved for him. Of course Brianna would use it on occasion, but preferred to lounge on the couch, or to lie on her stomach on the floor at the foot of Sherlock's chair; either to read, or finish up her latest drawing.

John watched silently as Sherlock's eyes darted around the room curiously. He hadn't even bothered to take off his coat or loosen his scarf.

"Something wrong?" John asked.

"Brianna?" Sherlock called down the hall to the bedrooms.

"I don't think she's in." John said. Sherlock looked confused. "Maybe she's down with Mrs. Hudson." John suggested as footsteps out in the hall made Sherlock's head whip around. "See Sherlock? There she is now."

"No," Sherlock said quietly. "That's Mrs. Hudson." He noted her slow progress up the stairs.

"Were you calling for your wife?" Mrs. Hudson called from the staircase. Sherlock waited for her at the door. Mrs. Hudson was old and frail; still sporting pastel colours and floral patterns. Lately her hip had been giving her more grief than normal and climbing the stairs of the house was getting harder. She held tight to the banister with one hand and held a vase containing a single blood red rose with the other.

"I thought I told you no flowers." Sherlock rolled his eyes. He had no feeling one way or the other about flowers, but Brianna always got upset when they start to wilt and die.

"Oh it's not mine dear, it's Brianna's." Mrs. Hudson said matter-of-factly as she sauntered into the flat. "After you left and she didn't come down for breakfast I came up to make sure she wasn't having _difficulties_." She looked to John who nodded sympathetically. 6 months previously they had discovered that Brianna had Multiple Sclerosis and although she was usually in very good health, it sometimes changed suddenly. Sherlock's eyes flicked toward their bedroom momentarily concerned. "When I got up here she was already gone and I found this," Mrs. Hudson held up the rose, "just sitting out, so I took it downstairs to put it in a vase." She looked accusingly at Sherlock. "I couldn't find a vase anywhere up here, and I wasn't about to put it in a beaker!"

"We don't have a vase because flowers are impractical, and Brianna gets upset when they die. So, that wouldn't be hers."

"Someone could have got it for her? Or for you?" John suggested with a slight smile on his face as he teased his friend.

"Don't be stupid John." Sherlock dismissed. John frowned and busied himself making tea as Sherlock pulled out his mobile.

**No New Messages**

"She won't be texting if she went to work." John tried to help. Sherlock looked like he was about to get agitated, but didn't know why he was upset; like he had woken from an upsetting dream, but couldn't remember what it had been about to put him on edge.

"She doesn't work on Sundays."

"She could be covering for a mate? Mary and I do it all the time."

"Unlikely." Sherlock whispered. His body stopped moving as his mind raced.

"Oh no." John sighed. He recognized the sight of Sherlock shutting himself off from the rest of the world as he tried to work something out. Sometimes he would warn John that he was retreating to his Mind Palace, other times he would just freeze and become completely unresponsive to everything around him. "Mrs. H, you might want to take a seat."

Gladly Mrs. Hudson sat down on the couch, the vase in her lap, watching Sherlock just as intently as John. The days of watching him with mixed thoughts of "This is odd" and "Is he broken?" far behind them. Now anything he did was just "good old Sherlock."

"John, you can sit down." Sherlock said eventually as he moved away into the bedrooms. John had barely bent his knees to recline in his sofa chair when Sherlock came stomping back into the living room calling for Mrs. Hudson.

"What did you hear this morning? Anything strange? Did anyone visit?" He bent down to her and stared her in the face. He was still calm, but spoke with the intensity of an experienced interrogator.

Mrs. Hudson's eyes widened nervously as she tried to remember.

"Sherlock, is something wrong?" John asked. The smile at the corner of his mouth had been replaced by the shadow of a frown as he wondered if he should be worried about something. Without looking up from Mrs. Hudson Sherlock threw a ratty, leather bound book at John who caught it in midair only to recognize it immediately as Brianna's sketchbook. Naturally John's the first to admit that Sherlock knows Brianna better than he does; rightly so, but even John knew her well enough to know that Brianna _never_ leaves the house without her sketchbook. He spoke up anyway, trying to reassure Sherlock.

"She could have just forgotten it."

"You and I both know that Brianna leaving the flat without her sketchbook would be like you or I leaving the house without shoes." Sherlock's train of thought was derailed as his eyes focussed on Mrs. Hudson's hand; there was a fresh bandage on one of her fingers. His eyes flicked back to the rose, zooming in on a dozen sharp, little thorns; most commercially sold roses have the thorns removed so that the flowers are more delicate and less threatening. His eyes moved from the stem and focussed next on the petals; blood red.

The detective's eyes squinted as he analyzed it.

Across the room, still in his chair John stopped flipping through the pages of the sketchbook and called out,

"Sherlock?"

"Shut up John." The Detective dismissed. "Mrs. Hudson, where did you find that rose?"

"It was lying across the mantel piece." She pointed. Sherlock's brain quickly pulled out all the pieces of the puzzle, silently fitting all the clues together. The rose was left on the mantelpiece where Sherlock would look. It was left in an empty house. The rose still had thorns; meaning the person who left it is not frightened of a little pain. And then there was the colour; blood red, a conscious colour choice, but was it a threat or part of the clue to whoever left it. Brianna was gone, but where he could not tell. Her shoes were gone, but her sketchbook was left behind as a warning sign that she hadn't gone willingly.

"Sherlock, look!" John persisted.

"What?" Sherlock shouted as he spun to face John who was holding Brianna's sketchbook open to a page with the portrait of a woman. The drawing was of a thin woman with fierce eyes, dark hair, narrow lips and a harsh jawline. The woman in the drawing was gorgeous. Both John and Sherlock recognized her immediately as the person they used to know as _The Woman_; Irene Adler. Sherlock took the sketchbook from John and examined the drawing closely. It was remarkably accurate.

"I thought she was dead?" John asked. Sherlock remained silent. "Is she involved in… whatever this is?" John asked as a moaning sigh that hadn't sounded in the flat in nearly 5 years resonated from deep inside Sherlock's jacket pocket.

Mrs. Hudson looked affronted. "Not this again!"

"You never changed that?" John questioned. Sherlock ignored his companions and looked at the message.

**I'm not alone. **

**Let's have dinner.**

Another moaning sigh made John blush.

**Should I take your silence as a yes?**

Sherlock did not answer. He stood still in his living room starring at his mobile phone.

**She's not quite my type, but I do like how she plays hard to get.**

**Might just have to punish her…**

_Where is she?_


	2. Chapter 2: The Invitation

"Sherlock? What's wrong where is she?" John's voice didn't shake but Mrs. Hudson felt the tension in the air and could tell John was worried. She looked from Sherlock; focussed solely on his phone that he couldn't hear John, and John who started taking a few steps toward his friend.

Sherlock typed frantically '_Where is she?'_, hit send and waited; frozen like a statue, for his phone to release that awful moaning sigh.

John advanced slowly calling to Sherlock. Is that Irene Adler? Is she in town? I thought she was dead? He jumped back slightly as Sherlock's phone moaned, like a ghost from their past.

**Are you coming to dinner?**

_Where should I meet you?_

**Come alone or bring your boyfriend, either way come soon. Or I might have to add a little colour to her pretty little face. **

_Don't you hurt her._

**Or what? **

**Is she important to you? Is she anyone special? Will you punish me if I hurt her?**

_Hurting her would be the worst decision of your life. _

**I can't wait.**

John and Mrs. Hudson watch from across the room as Sherlock's face contorts into the fiery fury of a wild animal. Instead of texting back Sherlock put the phone to his ear and drummed his fingers against his side waiting for the other end of the line to be picked up.

The sickeningly sweet voice of Irene Adler picked up and said, "Hello handsome."

"Where is she?" Sherlock's voice was deep and guttural, the kind of voice you would not want to run into in a darkened alley.

"Oh, I have missed your voice. Say something sweet."

"Where is she?" He repeated.

"Well that fell short of expectation." She teased. "I barely got shivers. Try again."

Sherlock stayed silent.

"Oh come on love, you're playing the game wrong."

Still, Sherlock held his tongue.

"Fine." Irene sounded genuinely upset and hung up the phone.

Sherlock struggled to inhale naturally.

"Sherlock? What's…" John's question was interrupted as Sherlock dialed again and placed the phone back against his ear.

The line stopped buzzing but the other end of the line was as quiet as Sherlock's. Irene was waiting for him to speak. He refused. Instead he listened to the receiver, trying to make out any noises that might help him deduce where she was. He heard the dull noises of traffic; that ruled out the country, and remembered that her voice hadn't echoed, so it was unlikely that they were somewhere large and abandoned. Irene had cell reception, so they weren't underground or in a car park. Good, that's something.

"Oh you are a naughty boy!" Irene's voice dripped with desire. "Hear what you were looking for?"

"No." Sherlock snapped.

A whip cracked on the other end of the phone, and Sherlock failed to refrain from wincing when he heard the gagged squeak and muffled protest that followed.

"How about now?"


	3. Chapter 3: Meeting at the Old Library

"John, let's go."

John had already shrugged his jacket over his shoulders and was standing ready to leave. "Where are we going?"

"I don't know." He threw on his jacket, forgetting his scarf and skipped every other step on his way down the staircase out to the street. He threw the door to 221 Baker Street open as a young man; one of Sherlock's homeless network ran up the walk. He was out of breath and huffing as he looked at Sherlock and John.

"What have you seen Peter?"

Peter looked nervously at Sherlock. "I think… I think it's Brianna." He stuttered between gasps for air.

"Where?"

"The old Library." Peter's chest heaved as Sherlock ran off in the direction the young man had indicated.

John pulled a bit of cash from his pocket and handed it to Peter, patting him on the back. "Good man." He said before running down the street after Sherlock.

Their feet pounded the pavement, John following behind Sherlock as they swerved around parked cars, over park benches and through alleys behind rows of old buildings. John watched and ran, noticing the homeless who lined the streets point directions to Sherlock as he passed. _He really does have eyes everywhere. _John noted.

When they ran like this it often meant a life or death situation for someone. But _this_ was Irene Adler. She was clever, very cunning but she'd never been one to kill anyone herself. She enjoyed discipline, and had drugged Sherlock once, but she wasn't a killer; she never had been, but John doubted very much that Brianna knew that. Their haste was not in fear for Brianna's life, instead they needed to get Brianna out quickly; her body can't handle stress well. When he had a second he pulled out his phone and sent a quick message.

When the dilapidated stone walls of the old Library came into view Sherlock slowed to a deliberate walk. John matched his pace and looked up to his best friend for direction. "How are we handling this?"

"I will handle it. You get Brianna out."

"What? Me?"

"I will give you the opportunity, just get her out."

"What about you, and Irene?"

Sherlock remained silent, hands in his pockets, staring straight ahead.

"Sherlock? "

"There is a lesson to be learned today, and I expect to be the teacher." His eyes were cold as the old wooden door to the Library creaked open. They followed flickering candle light to one of the study halls. All the desks had been removed, and only a couple chairs that were pressed against the walls remained. An old rolling chalk board sat off to the side, and in the centre of the room stood _The Woman; _Irene Adler, wearing nothing but bright red heels and a top hat.

"That didn't take long." She said smiling. "You must have really missed me to have come so quickly."

"Same old tricks?" Sherlock remarked looking around the room for any sign of Brianna.

"Don't you own clothes?" John asked, going slightly pink in the face. Irene put her hands on her hips exasperated and held out a hand to Sherlock expecting to receive his jacket. But the Detective didn't move.

"Where is she?"

"Ladies first Sherlock, those are the rules." She wiggled her finger at him. "You have to answer one of my questions first. Who is she?"

"You don't know?" Sherlock looked surprised.

"She's remarkably strong willed. She wouldn't tell me anything. I'm not used to not getting what I want. Is that why she was there? At your flat? Was she learning to withstand torture?"

"You could say that." John chided.

"Not helpful John." Sherlock scolded.

"What are you doing here?" Sherlock asked. Irene advanced slowly and gently placed her hands on his chest.

"I missed you. I haven't seen you since our romp in Asia." She pouted and flattened his lapel, sliding one hand under his coat to feel his chest. "You've missed me too! Your heart, it's racing." She leaned her head against him and inhaled deeply; violin strings and peppermints. "I know it's been too long, but you have to play by the rules." She looked up into Sherlock's eyes, "Give me something."

"Her name is Brianna Turner."

"Good man." Irene pat his chest and walked a slow circle around Sherlock, running her hands up and down his arms and back.

"Now tell us where she is." John piped up angrily. He had never had patience for Irene's games.

"Down boy. Don't get jealous."

"I'm not jealous Irene, I just want to see her."

"Oh you're jumpy today. Is she a friend of yours?" Irene asked patronizingly. John pursed his lips together but nodded curtly. "You haven't got many friends, is she special?" John did not answer, but looked to Sherlock for help.

"Your turn. Where is she?" Sherlock asked.

"Behind the chalk board."

Sherlock and John moved together, crossing the room and moving the chalk board away to reveal Brianna tied to a chair, her shirt torn, face red and bruised. A tiny cut in one eyebrow caused a small trickle of blood to run down over her closed eyelid. They had seen her look a lot worse, but she was pale, and sweaty, even though she was just wearing a tank top and jeans. She looked like she had a fever but she was freezing. She didn't even have shoes on. It wasn't cold in the Library, but it wasn't warm either. Across the room watching them goose bumps covered Irene's naked body, but her face didn't betray that she was cold.

"Brianna?" Sherlock watched John as he ran his hands over her wrist taking her pulse, over her head taking her temperature and pinching her earlobes to see if she was sleeping. She was unresponsive, but breathing. "Brianna, wake up. If you can hear me, I need you to open your eyes."

Sherlock turned on Irene and demanded, "What have you done to her?"

"Nothing I haven't tested on you dear."

"Brianna is on medications and if you've drugged her it could have some very serious repercussions." John was close to shouting as he untied Brianna's feet and wrists. Irene looked nervously between John and Brianna, like it had never occurred to her that her little 'sleeping shot' might conflict with other medications, or even that someone as young as Brianna might be on a serious medical regime.

"How do you know?"

"He's her Doctor." Sherlock answered. Beside him John pursed his lips again, his nostrils flaring. He wanted to yell at her and couldn't believe that Sherlock had managed to keep his temper. His phone buzzed quietly in his pocket.

"You should get her out of here John. Besides, Irene doesn't need her anymore. I am more than capable of answering her questions, and unless I'm wrong, she came to see me anyway." He raised an eyebrow at Irene. John lifted Brianna's small frame from the chair, carefully avoiding the bruises around her wrists and ankles, his mind jumped to flashbacks from Pakistan, carrying innocent bystanders away from the fights; this wasn't the same at all, and yet it felt very similar. He shook the memories out of his head and focussed on Brianna.

He left Sherlock and Irene inside and carried Brianna to the car parked just outside the library door. The driver's door sprang open, and Mary hoped out of the car to open the passenger's door. She was still dressed in scrubs and had obviously come straight from the clinic when she got John's text.

"What's wrong?" She cried looking from Brianna to the Library.

"She was drugged by the Adler woman. Take her to Bart's. We'll meet you there."

"Is she still in there?" Mary's voice got very serious as her eyes focussed on the doors to the Library. The windows were boarded up, but Mary watched the building as if there was nothing other than glass in the panes.

"Mary, no." John put a hand on her chest and held her back. "We need you to watch over Brianna. Sherlock and I can handle everything here."

Mary exhaled and turned back to Brianna in the passenger's seat reluctantly. "She's in good hands. I'll keep her safe." Mary said.

"I know. Ask Molly to run a toxicity test. I want to know exactly what was put in her system."

As John turned away Mary called after him, "John, teach that fool a lesson."

John nodded, "I intend too."


	4. Chapter 4: Banished

"Alone at last." Irene sighed happily, but when Sherlock didn't respond she took a couple steps closer. She ran one hand down his leg in an attempt to provoke him. He took a step away almost immediately. "What's wrong dear? Not hungry?"

"Are you still looking for answers?"

Irene nodded. "Of course."

"Then go get something to cover yourself and let's find out how clever you really are."

"I'm fine like this." She teased.

"No. You're covered in goose bumps, you keep looking toward the supply closet and you've already made your impression, and frankly I'm not impressed."

"Just because you've seen it before doesn't mean the novelty should have worn off." Irene pouted.

"Go get dressed."

She stalked away and returned in comfortable slip on shoes and a black dressing gown. "Better?"

Sherlock ignored her. "You've always been clever. It's what drew me to you, but how clever are you actually?"

"You mean it had nothing to do with my body?" One finger traced the line of her collar bone as she talked.

"The beauty of the female body has often been lost on me. But cleverness is not. So ignore the base impulse to seduce me and think for a bit. Who is Brianna? What do you know of her? Think. What have you missed?"

Irene stared at Sherlock trying to remember everything she could about the young woman. She was about to answer when John slid through the heavy door again. John's swift return startled Sherlock and Irene from their dueling dance of wits long enough for John to reply to Sherlock's confused look with a, "She's with Mary."

John joined Sherlock; relieved that Irene had covered up a bit, and listened as Sherlock asked her again what she knew of Brianna.

"She's young, strong willed, stubborn, an artist who does other work to pay the bills, happily married and more than a bit feisty. She also has quite the tolerance. I had to give her twice my usual dose just to get her to shut up."

"She's learned from the best." Said John under his breath; unable to resist the comment.

"Still not helping." Sherlock scolded.

"You said you were her Doctor, is that your doing?" Irene looked to John who shook his head furiously no.

"He's one of many." Added Sherlock. "Now what makes you say happily married?"

"There was a gap on her ring finger where she had removed a ring."

"What if they had a fight and she removed the ring." Sherlock suggested. Irene shook her head.

"No, she was wearing a ring on the ring finger on her other hand. If she was upset she wouldn't have the ring on at all. Besides, every time I asked her about her husband she denied him and got stronger and more defensive. If I asked her about herself she wasn't as defensive. So, she cares for him and his wellbeing more than she cares for herself." Irene nodded approvingly. "Rare, and admirable. So far so good?" Irene inquired. Sherlock couldn't help but smile. John tried to remain impassive. "Then why was she at your flat?"

"Why indeed?" Sherlock moved to circle her. "Who would be in my flat?"

"A stalker, a burglar or a client." One eye brow raised to tease him. "You haven't gone soft like your brother, have you? Taking on pathetic clients because of a pretty face?"

"Is that it? You determined that she is happily married- so unlikely a stalker. You saw no sign of forced entry, so she's not likely to be a burglar. You haven't ruled out client, and yet you dragged her here and drugged her for information. Why?"

"What can I say? I rarely get such attractive clients, maybe I was jealous." She shrugged trying to be nonchalant, but was catching on that Sherlock was hiding something from her. He still circled the room slowly, hands behind his back, watching her.

"You should be jealous." John said. He was so matter of fact that Sherlock found it difficult to scold him again. Instead he glanced at the Doctor and John fell silent.

"I think you were bored." Sherlock stopped moving. "I think you got bored, that's why you came to London. You wanted someone to play a game with you. You came to surprise me, to tease me and taunt me into a game. Instead, when you broke into my flat, you were the one who was surprised. There was someone there. Someone you didn't expect; someone who wasn't me, or John or Mrs. Hudson. Who else would be so comfortably in my flat?" The question was rhetorical, but Irene's eyes widened slightly as if realizing she had made a horrible misjudgement.

"I think you know exactly who she is. Since the first moment you saw her you knew. But you are right that you were jealous, so jealous that you refused to believe the evidence surrounding you and the circumstance, so you drugged her," Sherlock started moving again and John's arms tensed; John didn't know if he'd be able to pull Sherlock off if he lunged at Irene, but he also didn't know if he would want to. "And you kidnap her and you threaten her for information. You drugged her, attacked her and put her in the hospital, knowing fully who she was. Do you think that was wise?"

"I don't know." Irene gasps nervously.

"Oh, but you do." Sherlock's voice purrs like a cat luring a mouse to a trap. He clasped his hands over his stomach and turned the dark ring on his left hand absently. He watched Irene's eyes focus on the ring and dart to John for confirmation. The Doctor barely moved. He inhaled deeply, his lips set into a pouting frown and exhaled quickly nodding so slightly she wasn't sure she actually saw it. "You used to refer to Mycroft as _The Ice Man _and you've already admitted that he's started melting, so why would you assume I hadn't changed from the way you used to know me?" He stopped moving and slowly closed the gap between them, he leaned in very close and whispered into her ear. It was so close and so soft that it looked intimate and private, and to a certain extent it was. Irene's eyes fluttered as he grew close, but her pupils dilated as he spoke. Though she tried, she could not stop her lips from quivering. He hissed, "I'm scarcely _The Virgin_ anymore." He took one step back and let his words sink in.

John had never seen Irene truly terrified. She'd dealt with all kinds of criminals before, even been able to call Moriarty off an attack, but standing in front of Sherlock with the evidence that she had just sent his _wife_ to the hospital crashing through her mind Irene looked like a child that had swam too deep and realized they were moments away from drowning.

"I didn't know." She stammered, backing away. In Asia, Sherlock had seen her on her knees preparing for her execution and in that moment she hadn't looked half as afraid as she did looking up into his blue eyes and pleading to be forgiven.

"You did. You were just too bored to believe it." He advanced on her like an animal. He grabbed her shoulders and swung a leg at her feet knocking them from under her. He supported her head and kept it from hitting the ground as she fell on to her back. He fell over her, pinning her down. His face was so close to hers that the ends of his curly hair brushed her nose. Any other time, being this close to Sherlock would have sent her heart beat racing; at the moment it stood still, paralyzed with fear.

"I'm sorry."

"I know." Sherlock replied as he got to his feet. He straightened his jacket and put his hands in his pockets.

_I know _was not what John Watson had expected to hear next. He stared blankly at Sherlock, waiting for him to lunge back at the woman.

"You should know that you have made an enemy of me. You are no longer welcome at Baker Street. Don't message me, don't try to seek my help in the future and do not come near me or my family_ ever again._" He spat the last few words. Irene had pushed herself up to a sitting position, but couldn't manage to even nod at him.

John cleared his throat. He looked pointedly from Sherlock to Irene and turned his palms expectantly to the ceiling.

"That includes the Watsons." Sherlock added with an eye roll. He tilted his head to John and left, leaving Irene alone on the floor of the Library. To John, Irene had never looked so small and insignificant than when she realized she had betrayed Sherlock and would never see him again.

On the street Sherlock hailed a cab. John watched Sherlock climb in and slam the door on John before he got close enough to climb into the cab as well. If Sherlock hadn't done this to him already on many occasions he would have been insulted or cross, but John knew when Sherlock needs space and he often doesn't know how to ask for it. _I'll meet him at Bart's then_, John thought waiving down the next cab. He pulled out his mobile phone and texted Mary when he climbed into the cab.

_We've finished with her. We're on our way._

_-J_

_Room 344. Be swift._

_-M_


	5. Chapter 5: Cold Comforts

On the second floor of St. Bart's hospital, in one of the single occupant rooms, Brianna lay covered in thin hospital blankets. Her exposed skin was colourful and bruised, the cut over her eyebrow had been stitched and bandaged, and her bottom lip was full and swollen. She couldn't sleep despite feeling exhausted. Mary sat on the edge of her bed, softly running a comforting hand over her friend's shoulder, as John watched the window in the door expectantly. He only took his eyes from the door to check if he'd missed any messages on his phone. Nothing. Sherlock hadn't called, hadn't messaged and no one had seen him; not even the youth living on the streets outside Bart's.

Brianna had been focussing on her hands; balling them into fists, tapping each finger to her thumbs in sequence to test the sensations and responsiveness, when John sighed and clicked his phone off again. She turned her head toward him and reached out a hand. She couldn't reach him, so Mary called him softly,

"John." Mary said getting off the bed and reaching out to her husband for Brianna.

John turned to see Brianna's outstretched hand and took it in both of his. He faked a smile and held tightly. "What is it Bree?"

"What was it like when Sherlock left you?" Brianna's voice was soft, it squeaked slightly as she tried to control it.

Like his smile, he faked a laugh as he said, "Which time?" But neither Mary nor Brianna looked amused.

"I mean it."

John sat down as his head dropped and he looked up at her from under his brow seriously. "It was… difficult." Beside him Mary squeezed his arm subtly enough that anyone but Sherlock Homes would have missed it.

"Honestly, John. How bad?" Brianna pressed.

"Why do you ask?"

Brianna turned away in the hospital bed when her eyes started watering. She couldn't face John to ask him her question, but it was written all over her face. Mary reached a hand out to console her, but Brianna pulled her hand away. John detached himself from Mary and sat on the bed beside Brianna, careful not to squish her. She looked pale, and her short white blonde hair and the light blue hospital gown didn't help her look any better. Her eyes; still determinedly looking away, were wide and watery.

"It was awful, Brianna, one of the hardest times of my life."

Brianna sniffled; her worst fears had been confirmed. She nodded.

"But he wasn't gone forever. He left, but then he came back. He always comes back." John smiled a tiny grin that made small creases in his cheeks.

Brianna didn't look consoled.

"Why would you ask that? He'd never leave you." John continued. They were worried, he and Mary both. Like Sherlock, Brianna was prone to severe mood swings. She was normally bright and cheery, but when her mood changes, her depression can be more frightening than Sherlock's worst tantrums.

She winced as a jolt of pain raced up her spine and lay back trying to calm down. Her breath hitched as another painful shock ran up her leg, forcing her to twitch uncontrollably. Slowly she forced her breathing back to a regular pace. It took a while, but focussing on returning her breathing to normal made her concentrate on something other than _why Sherlock wasn't at the hospital with her._

When she was back in control Brianna turned her head to face John. Her eyebrows were furrowed angrily, but her eyes were pleading with him. His last words _He`d never leave you_ repeated in her mind over and over. "How could you possibly know?" She snapped. "I may not have been able to move or respond, but I heard everything she said in that library. I know he missed _her_."

John sighed and Mary turned away to wipe a tear from her face. It wasn't the first time they'd seen Brianna in the hospital, and it wasn't the worst they'd seen her either. Diagnosed recently with a degenerative nerve disease, Brianna was no stranger to tests and hospital beds, but John and Mary remembered rushing to St. Bartholomew's Hospital after a frantic text from Sherlock saying Brianna had been in a car crash. Seeing her battered and bruised again, suffering in silence was almost too much for them.

"Look Bree. I'm not going to pretend this isn't hard, or confusing, but I've seen the way he looks at you and I've seen the way he hurts with you. I've seen how much he suffers when you're sore or sick. If he could take on your pain and suffer for you, he would. Hell, I would too, but don't make the mistake of thinking he doesn't suffer too."

"Then maybe it's best he's gone."

"He's not gone." Mary jumped in.

"Then where is he? Why isn't he here?"

John and Mary shared a look. They wanted to tell her that Sherlock loved her, and that they were sure he had a good reason for his absence. They believed it with all their hearts, but Brianna knew that already, and it wasn't enough at the moment, so they stayed silent. They looked at her lovingly, with a bit of pity in their eyes, unable to help.

"You should go too." Brianna whispered. Her eyes returned to the ceiling away from her friends.

"We're not going anywhere sweetheart." Mary cooed.

Swiftly, out of the blue Brianna threw off her blankets and lunged as far off the bed as she could manage. Her face contorted in a terrifying rage, as she yelled at the pair. "GET OUT!"

Mary's eyes enlarged and started to water. She cowered behind John, who was standing with wide shoulders, bracing himself against her attack. When Brianna sat back down John Watson dealt with her the same way he would have dealt with one of Sherlock's outbursts; calmly and assertively.

"If you want some peace you just have to ask, but we're not leaving you. We love you very much, and will be back the moment you call."

Brianna covered herself in blankets once more and turned her back to the Watsons until she heard the door to her room close gently behind them.

Mary whispered a soft, "I'm so sorry." as she left.

Once the door was closed John watched through the window as Brianna's back shook with the force of her sobs before turning to his wife.

"What do we do?" She asked. "I don't want to leave her alone."

"Then don't." Said John. Mary watched her husband curiously; his jaw was clenched and his forehead was furrowed making deep creases across his brow. His eyes were dark and he looked at her without blinking. After a moment, John spoke up softly. "Where is he?"

"I've no idea. You saw him last."

"Yeah at the library where he left Irene and hoped into a cab." John started to pace circles.

"He needs you."

"What? I don't even know where _he_ is!"

"Then go find him." Mary cupped John's cheek in her hand, silently asking him to be safe.

"I've no idea where he is. I'm not good at finding people, I'm not _him_."

"No, but you're the next best thing." Her lips brushed against his, and lingered. "Stay safe." She whispered close to his face. She backed away slightly and regained her composure. "And bring him back."

John pulled Mary back for another kiss. "And you keep her safe."

"I will."


	6. Chapter 6: Hide and Seek

John scratched the side of his head when his feet scuffed the coarse stones of the road outside St. Bart's. _Where do I start looking for him?_ Any other time John's first reaction would be to turn to Sherlock, but his tall friend was the one who was missing. He had to find him and had no idea where to start.

He watched the pedestrians shuffle past wondering what Sherlock would have seen when he looked at them. He noticed most people were rushing past, a few were taking their time, and none of them even noticed the homeless youth sitting on the curb asking for spare change. _Sherlock would have said 'nice try' and then given examples of a hundred key things I missed. _He sighed, and looked up the street toward nothing in particular.

Standing on the street outside the hospital John was sure of 4 things:

He loves Mary more and more every day

Sherlock is the most frustrating person he had ever met

Sherlock is the best man he had ever met

The best man he had ever met would never leave Brianna

Sherlock's life is a lot like a weird game of chess where the queen is the most important piece on the board. He doesn't care what happens to the king as long as the queen is still standing at the end of the game. (John had made a similar observation while Sherlock and Brianna were still courting, and when they got married they cleverly included a white Queen and a black Knight as toppers to their cake.)

He sends his pawns out strategically; they can be sacrificed, but when the other team gets near his queen Sherlock panics and analyzes every angle of the situation to get her out of danger. Today, he could not keep his queen from danger. She was overrun and taken as Irene snuck up and checked him, finding a fatal flaw in his game plan.

That's a lot to deal with, even if you are a high functioning sociopath.

His odd friend often struggles to deal with his emotions when it comes to his wife, and having just seen her kidnapped, attacked and drugged; even though the situation was far from life or death, would have sent Sherlock into a typhoon of emotions he wouldn't know how to understand or control. So, where do you go on the worst day of your life?

John remembered the worst day of his life and looked up to the roof of Saint Bartholomew's Hospital. _It's worth a try._ John thought as he re-entered the hospital and climbed the stairs up to the roof.

The metal door opened on to the empty roof. John expected to see Sherlock standing on the edge of the building again, watching life unfold beneath him, contemplating the complexities of life as he evaluated the outcome of the day from the sanctuary of his mind palace. Instead, the roof looked empty except for a flock of pigeons roosting nearby.

He approached the edge of the roof and looked down at the place he had stood so many years ago, while talking to Sherlock on the phone listening to his last words before he watched his best friend jump from the top of the hospital to his death. Looking down at the street made John's head spin and his knees shake nervously. How did Sherlock stand here, say those things to him and still manage to leap off the ledge? He turned away from the edge of the building while a chill crept up his spine. When he turned away from the ledge, he saw Sherlock sitting in the middle of the roof, his back against a raised skylight, watching him carefully. John let out a relieved sigh and sat beside Sherlock without saying a word.

Once John sat, neither man spoke. They didn't move, except to breathe and watch the birds. This was one of their games; at least John refers to it as a game when he explains what he and Sherlock do during cases to Mary, _'Sherlock notices everything and when he doesn't know how to process it, he retreats to his mind palace, while I sit around and play the waiting game until he sorts out the pieces of a puzzle in a make believe castle.'_

John is practiced in the art of this game, so he waits for Sherlock to make the first move. The birds roosting nearby have long since moved on when Sherlock sighs and leans his head back against the raised skylight. _Check-mate_, John teases silently.

"This is a hell of a spot you picked."

Sherlock chuckles half-hearted. "It's the last place I felt this small and helpless."

John nods. "Brianna's been looking for you. She thinks you've left her." The Doctor didn't turn to face Sherlock, but if he had he'd have seen Sherlock's face scrunch up uncomfortably before shaking his head.

"I thought about it."

"Really?" John asked. He had the sudden urge to lash out and smack his best friend. When Sherlock continued, John was glad for his restraint.

"I tried." He said guilt dripping off the words. He paused for a breath. "I'm the reason she got hurt today. Being with me put her in danger, so I thought it would be best for her if I just left. No one would ever hurt her again to get to me, she wouldn't get caught it the cross fire and she'd be out of harm's way," he stopped, trying to think of how to say the next part.

"But you haven't left yet."

"Nope."

"Why not?"

"I can't."


	7. Chapter 7: Clever and Selfish

"I can't." Sherlock's voice was no more than a whisper.

John stared straight ahead at the spot where the birds had been. "Well that's good isn't it?"

"No John. It's not _good_, it's selfish."

"And that's different than normal?" John's eyebrows raised as he turned to Sherlock for an explanation.

"I'm the reason she got hurt, and I can't leave because I…" His voice cracked and he stopped talking.

John's chest tightened for his friend, but he rolled his eyes and said casually, "But you can't _live without her_, blah blah, I know, go on."

"So I'd rather she live in danger with me, than live without her where she'd be safe? What does that say about me?"

"It says a lot actually." John nodded. "You love her and today wasn't enough to tear you apart. Instead it's made you stronger. Now you know you don't want to leave, even though it could make it dangerous in the future."

"That's the definition of selfish John."

"Besides she wouldn't be any better off without you; she'd be homeless, lonely, bored and instead of having a partner to share her pain, she'd be all by herself to suffer her disease." John added.

Sherlock didn't respond so John continued more seriously. "She asked for you."

"Asked? Past tense?"

"You weren't there when she woke up and she said she heard everything that was said in the library. So she put the pieces together. She's quite clever, your wife."

"What did she ask about?"

"She wanted to know what it was like after you _fell_."

"What did you tell her?"

"The truth." Said John.

At those words Sherlock forced himself up to the roof top door and down the stairs into the hospital. As usual John hoped up after him and followed closely behind his friend. "Where are we going?"

"To show my wife that _your_ truth and _her _truth are not the same thing." Sherlock barked as he descended the stairs. John contained a smug smile and followed closely behind.


	8. Chapter 8: Remember my Promise?

As the Consulting Detective and his partner walked quickly down the spotlessly clean hallways of the hospital they could see Mary, still keeping a watchful eye on Brianna. She had just taken a seat outside the door to Brianna's hospital room.

John looked past Sherlock to Mary who shook her head. "She wouldn't let anyone in. I've never seen her so upset. She wouldn't let the nurses take another blood sample, and refused to see the doctor." She paused, sighing heavily. "She even threw a chair at the door." Mary indicated a couple broken chair pieces piled on the floor next to the door. John was surprised he hadn't seen it before but assumed Sherlock had. He seemed unimpressed by the news. "So, the nurses had to sedate her." Mary folded her arms across her chest like she was cold and looked into the room again. "She's still unconscious." 

Sherlock didn't say anything as he opened the door, but gave quick deliberate nods to both Mary and John before closing the door behind his back. The sight inside was just like every other time Sherlock had seen Brianna in the hospital. The walls were white, the curtains hanging around the bed were yellow, the chairs and the hospital gown she wore were blue. Machines blinked and beeped and tubes fastened into her arm slowly dripped medication, but in all that, the only thing the Detective saw was Brianna.

Her short white hair was messy, her face was cut and bruised, and she was pale, but what Sherlock saw on top of that was her thin top lip and full bottom lip, her dark eyebrows, her long lashes, her nose that tips up slightly at the end, her small unpierced ears with a slight point to them and her chest rising and falling steadily.

Her eyes were still closed when Sherlock picked up the blankets that had fallen from her shoulders and pulled them up to keep her warm. He didn't brush the hair from her face, or cup her cheek sweetly and whisper into her ear. Instead, he moved her legs to one side of the mattress and sat cross legged at the foot of her bed starring at her. They sat quietly for a while, Sherlock starring and Brianna sleeping, before Sherlock spoke.

"Do you remember when I asked you to marry me?" He didn't look away in embarrassment, but his cheeks went slightly pink at the memory. He was glad they were alone. With John's connections at the hospital Brianna always got a room to herself.

"Well, I guess what you would actually remember would be; me looking into my microscope and asking 'Do you want to?'" He chuckled to himself. "When you finally realized what I was asking you, do you remember what you asked me?

You asked me if I would be honest with you while you asked me a few questions first. It seemed like a logical request, so I obliged. Do you remember your next question?" He paused as if waiting for Brianna to respond.

"You asked me if I had any secrets.

I said yes." He paused again.

"Next, you asked me if any of those secrets concerned you.

And again, I said yes. I was surprised you seemed alright with that. I supposed you had guessed as much. Your next question was whether I would ever lie to you," he sighed, "Again I said yes, and again you kept asking questions. You asked me if I loved you," he nodded unconsciously, "Yes."

He heaved a sigh and looked away from her face for a moment. One of his hands drifted to her shin and his thumb rubbed it gently. She was still heavily sedated and made no sign that she could hear him, but he continued to talk anyway. Turning back to her face he said, "Your last questions was 'Whether you'd be a target, would you be safe?' I answered 'Yes you would become a target and no I couldn't always keep you safe'. But you seem to have forgotten the last thing I said to you, the part that made you sure you wanted to marry me." His blue eyes pleaded with her slumbering face. "You really don't remember?

I said I couldn't always keep you safe, but I said I would _always_ come for you." He stretched out and crawled up the bed, kissing her tenderly on the forehead. He looked her straight in the face and asked, "How could you ever doubt that?"

Unable to respond but aware of his presence and his words, a single tear fell slowly down Brianna's cheek.

In a very un-Sherlock way, the Detective wiped the tear from Brianna's cheek. He smiled a crooked smile and continued,

"I have never met a more intriguing, challenging and mesmerizing person than you, and since we met, there hasn't been any competition."


End file.
